


Safe And Sound

by watchingthestars13



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: 5+1, Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad, Bruce could be considered a little ooc because hes happy and relaxed, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Batfamily, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Angst, am I well aware that they only call him dad when they're vulnerable? yes, batfam, i mean not good-good but he's trying, teen and up because of Jason's foul goddamn mouth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-01-01 05:26:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18329522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watchingthestars13/pseuds/watchingthestars13
Summary: Five times Bruce's kids called him dad and once he said it himself





	1. Dick

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly me trying to write cute stuff and show Bruce being a pretty good dad, because that seems to be the niche I've dug for myself, and honestly it's fluffy and cozy in here so I'm fine with that! This first chapter is a little short, but I've got most of the other chapters written so they should be relatively regularly updated.  
> Hope you enjoy!

 

The only reason Bruce was up this early on a goddamn Saturday was because of the beautiful being floating in front of him right now. The sun was shining over the master bedroom's balcony in a way he'd consider indecent and Clark would call wonderful. 

"Hrngh," Bruce muttered as Clark swirled into the Superman-uniform in front of him. 

"Eloquent as usual, dear," Clark laughed, leaning in for a quick kiss. 

"If it wasn't for you, I'd be asleep right now," Bruce groused, but allowed Clark to pull him closer. He wasn't really mad, of course. He hadn't been out too late for this exact reason: being able to see Clark off. Morning kisses when he wasn't quite awake yet and Clark was the warmest thing in the room were his favorite. 

"I doubt it. The moment I get out of bed, you're up and about too."

Bruce's one hand trailed up Clark's arm to wrap around the back of his neck. "Mm. Don't like it when you're not in bed with me."

Clark chuckled, and pressed another kiss on his lips, this one lingering for a bit too long. Bruce cupped his cheek, making him come back for more. After a a few kisses, Clark reluctantly pulled away. "Okay, now I'm seriously late."

"Lois will understand," Bruce breathed as he pulled him back in, considering how to make Clark stay for a few more moments, maybe just enough for a quickie? He could do a quickie, if Clark would just-

"Oh god, she really wouldn't. Mm, don't do that, you know I'm powerless when it comes to you," he sighed and pulled away again, taking a step back. Clark's breath was coming a little faster now, and he shook his head, smoothing his hair back except for the spit-curl. 

"That's cheesy," Bruce pointed out, tucking the edges of his bathrobe tighter around himself. 

"You're better than kryptonite, baby," Clark said, touching a hand to his heart and laughing when his partner swatted after him. 

"Don't even joke about that. Get out of here," Bruce muttered, and Clark stole one last kiss before he was off, disappearing off into the sky. Bruce watched his flying form for as long as he could, until he heard the echoes of the sound barrier breaking. He stepped back into the room, and began the trek down to the kitchen. 

"Good morning," Bruce said as he walked into the manor kitchen, seeing Tim sitting with his phone by the kitchen island. Damian probably wasn't up yet, he had yet to see Dick, and God knows if Tim had even gone to sleep in the first place. The way he picked his coffee up, with a steady hand, made Bruce exhale in relief. Tim was always a little jittery when he hadn't slept, and the coffee usually only enhanced that. That steady hand told him Tim had had at least four hours of sleep. With that calming thought in mind, he made a beeline for the teapot standing on the stove.

"Just leave me alone to die!" Dick cried out from behind the kitchen island. Bruce stopped in his tracks, and looked to his other son for guidance. 

"We're out of cereal," the teenager said without looking up from his phone. Bruce crouched down next to Dick, who was sprawled out on the floor wearing only a t-shirt, boxers too big for him, and one sock. When Bruce reached out to touch his shaking shoulders, Dick made a sound like a muffled sob into the tile-floor. 

"Dick, when did you last sleep?" Bruce asked patiently. He knew this specific tantrum very well.

"Dunno. Maybe two days ago," he mumbled, snuffling. 

If Bruce had to guess, he'd say four days, maybe five. Dick was either lying or he'd lost a few days, but Bruce doubted he'd be this mentally and physically exhausted from just two days of no sleep. Maybe he was taking on too much at the police station? Bruce would have to see about reorganizing Dick's schedule. He could probably use some more down-time at the manor. Dick liked being with family, found it relaxing. Probably found it relaxing to not have to clean or cook, too.

Bruce frowned. "Go to bed." 

"'M not tired." Bruce met eyes with Tim over the counter, and the teenager quickly looked back at his phone. Well, he was definitely not getting any help from there, then.

"Up." Dick groaned, but rolled onto his back, and let himself be pulled to his feet. "Go to bed. Take a nap, at the very least."

"I'm just disappointed we don't have cereal!" Dick said and rubbed his eyes. Bruce could honestly not tell if it was to stave off tears or because he was tired, which was alarming to say the least. He resigned himself to putting Dick in a fireman's carry and putting him to bed.

"Alright, am I going to have to carry you?"

"No," Dick pouted, crossing his arms. When he didn't move, Bruce raised his eyebrows at him. "I just want some cereal, alright? That's all."

Before Dick could react, Bruce had swept him up onto his shoulders like he used to when he was much smaller and much easier to just pick up and throw. His back protested dully, but if it couldn't take dragging his 24-year-old to bed, how was it supposed to handle pulling people from burning buildings? 

Dick squawked indignantly at him, and Tim looked up from his phone again, but only to snap a picture of the two of them. 

"If I see that on any social media or any chat of yours with any of the Titans, I'm grounding you," Bruce called as he made his way into the hallway, heading towards the bedrooms.

"I'm eighteen!" Tim shouted back.

"That was your first warning, and there won't be a second!"

He arrived in front of Dick's door, and kicked it open, gently depositing Dick on the bed and tugging the covers up over him. When he was sure Dick wasn't going to roll off the bed, Bruce pulled the drapes closed, shrouding the room in darkness. On the bed, Dick groaned heartily and burrowed further into the sheets. 

Bruce walked around the bed, and grabbed Dick's comm and cellphone off the nightstand. When his son was too busy rubbing his face against the pillows like a pleased cat to notice, he slid the devices into his bathrobe's pocket. He sat down on the edge of the bed, tucking the covers up higher under Dick's chin. He tended to run hot and kick the sheets off in the middle of the night, but he liked being wrapped up in blankets when he was falling asleep. Bruce had learned that back in their early days as Batman and Robin, when Dick had spent a lot of scared nights in his new guardian's bed.

Dick sighed happily, shifting under the covers until he was comfortable. "Thanks, dad."

Bruce found himself smiling, and he reached out to brush a thumb over Dick's eyebrow, like he used to, back in the early days. Sometimes, when Clark would nudge him on accident in the middle of the night, apparently Bruce would wake up just enough to tell Clark 'I'm here, Dick' and then fall right back asleep. It was second nature, after all these years. "Sleep tight, son. I'll have Alfred check on you in a few hours."

"Mmmf," Dick agreed. Bruce huffed out a laugh at the way Dick's nose disappeared under the covers too, the only part of him peeking out being his tousled hair and eyebrows. On his way out, Bruce closed the door, privately shaking his head at his kids and their quirks. 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if this is messy and the writing is stilted, I'm attempting to come out of writers block and the best I can do is attempt fluffy batfam. Apologize if it sucks supremely! Thanks for reading anyways!


	2. Tim

 

With a grunt he would allow no one to hear, Bruce sank down on the couch, a hand pressed to his bruised ribs. He was benched on Dr. Thompson's orders and Alfred had banned him from the cave late last night for being 'overly controlling and obtrusive', so he'd slept in late, and was planning on reading until tea time.

Clark had been texting him cheerful messages about how he was very controlling and obtrusive and how he loved him very much for it all day long. Now he'd taken to sending pictures of Metropolis from above and his favorite street-vendors instead, asking if Bruce wanted him to fly over with some food. He'd declined, but only because he knew Alfred would raise his eyebrow at fast food being brought into his household when there was perfectly good food in the fridge. 

Once Bruce had reclined on the couch, his ribs felt a little less sore, but he could use some more padding. He turned his head, rolling it against the back of the couch, and saw a thick pillow on the other side of the long sofa. 

"Titus!" he called, and there was the clicking of nails on wood floors and Titus came rushing for him. "Hi buddy. Would you fetch me that pillow over there? The pillow." Bruce pointed, and Titus hopped up on the couch to grab it for him. "Good boy."

He took the pillow and scratched behind the big black dog's ears, making Titus' tongue stick out for a moment. Bruce chuckled, but abruptly cut himself off when the action stabbed through his torso. "Thank you, Titus."

Titus huffed and hopped back off the couch, dashing off to another part of the house, probably in search of some food or Alfred. Shoving the pillow in behind his back opened up his rib cage and he felt like he could breathe a little easier. Bruce settled down, and opened his book to read. 

There had only been time for Bruce to read about ten pages before he heard a groaning sound coming from behind him, accompanied by the smell of coffee and the too-sweet smell of energy drinks. That wasn't a threat to his safety, that was Tim. Considering how overpowering the scents were, Bruce considered that Tim might be trying to kill himself with caffeine. 

He looked up from his book when Tim came through the door behind him, and watched as his teenager folded himself over the back of the couch next to Bruce's head, and landed in a graceful sprawl on the cushions, all without spilling a drop of whatever witch-brew was in his cup. 

Bruce sighed, and raised an eyebrow at Tim. Before he could open his mouth to comment, Tim had face-planted and groaned into a couch cushion, loud enough that Bruce wondered what the hell had happened to him that day. It wasn't even tea time, how was he already onto coffee and energy drinks? 

"When was the last time you had more than four hours of sleep?" Bruce asked, and Tim lifted his head to look at him with only one eye. He had a scratch on his cheek from what looked like Catwoman's claws, and his hair was still cowl-mussed. "Did you just get out of your suit? It's three in the afternoon."

"What're you doing here?" Tim asked blearily. Bruce furrowed his eyebrows at him. Oh, yeah, definitely crashing. Hopefully he hadn't gotten any of the witch-brew into his mouth yet. He placed two fingers on Tim's neck to check his pulse.

"I live here," Bruce replied. "Your pulse is a little elevated. How much coffee have you had in the last six hours?"

"Phm? Thought it was ahm, not phm," Tim mumbled. Bruce blinked in surprise. Okay, so definitely further down the caffeine rabbit-hole than he'd calculated. Bruce adjusted.

"Alright, that's it." He stole the cup out of Tim's hand and put it down on the coffee table, reigning in his own wince at the pull on his ribs. 

"Hey, what are you-" Tim's complaint was cut off when his head was redirected onto leaning on Bruce's thigh. If he knew Tim right, this spiral meant he was about to conk out, if you only slowed him down enough. Sometimes Tim was too much like himself for comfort. The ability to power through any circumstance was both a blessing and a curse, making sure you could run through life. As soon as you slowed down enough to breathe, you broke down. It had taken Alfred several years and Clark an additional several months to make Bruce really understand the curse part of that ability. 

"Rest," Bruce demanded, and picked his book back up. "I'm not letting you off this couch until you get some sleep."

"But-"

" _No._ " 

That was the tone most of his Robins paid attention to, if they knew what was good for them. At least it made Tim stay silent for a while. Bruce went back to reading, already absorbed in the book again by the time Tim spoke up.

"I have a board-meeting," he said, but his voice was softer now. Sighing, Bruce tucked some of Tim's long hair behind his ears without looking up from his book.

"The board meeting was at ten am, Tim. You missed it. I called your secretary because I thought you were _asleep_ and would need the day."

"Oh." Tim rubbed his eyes like a tired child. "Am I seeing things?"

"What do you think you're seeing?" Bruce asked, swatting his hand away to pry his son's eye open. His pupils didn't look hazy from drugs. Migrane? No, Tim would've complained about it earlier in that case. Maybe that was what he was trying to get rid of with the concoction in the mug on the table.

"You, awake at a reasonable time and reading something that isn't a casefile."

Bruce closed his eyes, in equal amounts of exasperation and relief. "Go to sleep, Tim."

"No, seriously. Are you sure I'm not currently delusional?" 

"Yes, I'm sure."

"My vision _would_ tell me I'm not imagining it to gain my trust," Tim pointed out, squinting up at him.

"I think you've officially become more paranoid than me. Should I dial Guinness World Records over that, or over the amount of time you've stayed awake using coffee?" Bruce asked.

Tim laughed, rolling over on his back. "Okay, now I _know_ this isn't real. My Bruce would never be funny on purpose."

"Hey," Bruce muttered, gently tugging on Tim's hair in warning. His son's grin was a little loopy but he still got more comfortable against Bruce's thigh, rubbing his cheek against the soft fabric of the sweatpants as he shifted. 

"It's okay. I've had worse visions. This is one of the more pleasant ones. I like funny-Bruce over disappointed-Bruce," he murmured. 

Bruce considered that, and tugged on the blanket lying over the arm of the couch. With a flick of the wrist, it unfurled, and he tucked the ends around Tim's torso. "You know I'm proud of you, right Tim? Your detective work is unparallelled and... one day you're going to outsmart me, and we'll all be in trouble." 

Tim huffed, half-unconscious already. "I know, dad."

He nodded, and picked the book up again, keeping vigil as Tim's breaths evened out. In the end, all that could be heard was the whispering of pages being flipped, and two sets of calm breaths. 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your sweet comments!! They definitely motivate me to churn out sweet moments faster! I appreciate all the love this has been given in such a short time! <3<3<3


	3. Jason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the hurt/comfort tag really digs in. Nothing too dramatic, don't worry, but wringing a dad out of Jason is INCREDIBLY difficult, and hence we must suffer. Still pretty sweet though, hopefully!   
> Sorry about the wait, it's been a hectic week! Here's a long one to make up for it. Thank you for all your sweet words and the continued encouragement! Enjoy this chapter! <3

 

The Batmobile squealed into the cave, skidding just a little as it stopped on the platform. Alfred had only just stepped back down into the cave from doing the laundry, and the sight of the big black car coming in at that speed sent his heart racing in his chest. He hastened his pace towards the platform. 

Once there, he found Master Richard sliding across the hood to jerk open the passenger side door and pull out a much larger body from the car. The bright red helmet was what gave the identity of the passenger away, and just the sight of him after so long made Alfred reach out to touch before Dick could even ask for help.

"Found him passed out in an alley," Nightwing panted, and Alfred hurried to support young Master Jason's weight on the other side as they carted him to the medicine bay. 

"Any perpetrators nearby that could've caused his injuries?" Alfred asked as they flipped him up onto an examination table. Dick shook his head and moved to pull off Jason's boots as Alfred disengaged the security for the utility belt, to let himself work more freely.

"I don't see any blood. Would you turn him for me, Master Richard?" Alfred asked, moving to grab the examination kit. "Helmet too, please."

Dick nodded, and cupped the helmet in his hands. Smoothing his thumbs along the edge at the back made the helmet make a soft hissing noise as it depressurized the locks. Underneath the sharp lights in the medical bay, the grey pallor of Jason's face now stood out starkly. There were beads of sweat gathered in the dip of his cupids bow, and his hair was dark with sweat. Now that his face was uncovered, Dick could see the unrestful twitching of his eyes underneath his eyelids. Dick tugged his gloves off with his teeth and ran his hands over Jason's skull, his hands coming away with no stains of red and with no feeling of bumps. 

He frowned. "I don't feel any injuries at all, Alfie." 

At Dick's words, Alfred returned to the bed, and seeing the sweat, grabbed a thermometer that he promptly pressed into Jason's ear. His eyebrows raised when he pulled it out. "His fever is 105. Master Richard, help me get him out of these clothes." 

Jason shivered like he was about to shake apart as they pulled his jacket off his shoulders, his shirt over his head. As soon as their hands left him, he curled up in a protective ball on the bed, his teeth chattering. 

"Christ, 105 is bad, Al. What do you need me to do?" Dick asked, eyes wide. 

The old man's lips pursed. "Get me cold packs, and a thin blanket from the cabinet behind you." Dick rushed to do as he asked as Alfred pulled his suit jacket off, and then briskly tugged Jason's pants off, gently coaxing him onto his back. 

Jason groaned weakly as Alfred pressed a cold pack between his thighs, and underneath his armpits. He pinned Jason underneath the thin, crisply tucked blanket to stop him from squirming right off the bed, and Dick watched while biting on the tips of his gloves. Finally, Alfred inserted an IV in Jason's arm, and wiped the sweat off his brow gently with a cloth. 

"I believe that is all we can do for the young master for now, Master Dick. You did very well in bringing him to me. Maybe it is for the better if you return to patrol for the evening. I will alert you to any changes."

Dick laughed uneasily, rubbing the back of his neck. "I hear you loud and clear. I'll get out of your hair."

Alfred's smile was small, but reassuring. "I merely believed it would do you better to move around, rather than stand here and wait."

That earned him a more genuine chuckle. "Yeah, alright. I think we'll be in in a few hours, anyway."

"Do keep the injuries to a minimum, please," Alfred called as Dick made his way back to the platform where the Batmobile stood, the engine still purring. 

"We'll try!" Dick promised, but seeing as that was what he said every night, Alfred didn't put much faith into the statement. He sighed and went about preparing an extra sickbed, just in case. 

\---

Two days ago, Bruce had sprained his wrist. Normally, that wouldn't slow him down very much, but about a week before that, he'd managed to sprain his ankle too. The combination of injuries had made Alfred bench him for the night. Bruce wouldn't admit it, but whenever he rested too much of his weight on his ankle, he felt a sharp pain throughout his entire foot. He hadn't fought Alfred too hard on this one, and so far he'd actually gotten some things done, now that he was home for the night and restless. 

Walking around the house when it was absolutely silent was a disconcerting feeling, but the peace and quiet had let him concentrate on the Wayne Enterprises' R&D department's reports fully. The JL business would have to be taken care of too, but Bruce preferred to do that on the cave computers downstairs. The bigger screens meant he didn't have to strain his eyes so much, and he could keep more tabs open, meaning he got done quicker. 

He took the elevator downstairs in an effort to spare his ankle, Alfred would be so proud. Limping to the computer, he took Stephanie's purple mug, which was perched on the computer panel, and placed it on the tray going up. Alfred the Cat was asleep asleep on the computer chair, and Bruce contemplated going to get another versus waking him up, when he noticed the lights on in the med bay, reflecting on the dark screens. 

He was sweeping the curtains aside before he noticed he'd walked across the floor, his heart leaping up in his throat at the ashen faced Jason. The chill in the room made his faint autopsy scars stand out a little more than usual, and Bruce had a moment of heart-stopping vertigo. Bruce gripped the curtains tight in his fist and nausea curled in his stomach at the thought of him failing to catch Jason before he fell once _again_ , that he'd been reading _R &D reports_ while his kid was being-

"Ah, Master Bruce," Alfred said. One look at the old man's pleasantly surprised face made the claws gripping his heart unfurl. He wouldn't look nearly that put-together if Jason was really-

Bruce cleared his throat, but his voice still came out sounding hoarse. "What's... What's Jason doing here?" 

"I believe it is a particularly virulent strain of the flu, Master Bruce. We're lucky Master Richard inquired as to his whereabouts. As members of this family is wont to do, it seems Master Jason ignored his illness until he couldn't any longer, and he passed out while on patrol," Alfred said pointedly. Bruce ignored the slight against his person and moved closer to Jason's sickbed. 

Bruce nodded towards the IV. "What are you giving him?" 

"Fluids, for now. If his fever stays at 105, I'm considering replacing it with a slushie." Bruce's head whipped up in alarm, only to find Alfred's warm eyes trained on his face already, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Not to worry, sir. If his fever doesn't drop within the hour, we'll pop him in a chilly bath. I had one drawn up, just in case."

Bruce nodded, and turned back to look at Jason's frowning face. He looked so much younger when he was asleep. His face was still somehow softer, less guarded, and Bruce was reminded of how distressingly young Jason really was. When he found his hand reaching out to touch the freckled cheek, he forced it back down to his side.

Alfred would have none of that. With a knowing look, he sidled up next to Bruce, tucking the covers more securely around Jason's broad shoulders. "Would you sit with him while I dash upstairs to prepare some food for the returning family?" 

He frowned. "I don't think he'd want me, of all people, sitting with him."

"I am not asking for Master Jason's sake, lad, I'm asking for me." Pinned under Alfred's steady gaze, Bruce had no choice but to sink down into the chair at the head of the bed. The butler nodded. "Very good, Sir. I shall be down with sandwiches in a moment."

Now that he was here, Bruce was reluctant to leave Jason's side to finish the JL papers. Instead, he tapped into the comm feed of his kids and listened to Nightwing yell for Robin and Spoiler to stop poking at each other, pinged Black Bat on the map with her tracker, and read some of RR's messy notes on his current case. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Jason was starting to stir. Seeing as he was still at 105 degrees, Bruce doubted he was going anywhere soon, so he didn't think he would actually move.

He shouldn't have underestimated one of his children, of course. 

Jason woke up feeling dizzy, weak and confused. Didn't know where he was, didn't recall where he'd lost consciousness, and blinking his eyes open didn't help get rid of the confusion. Whenever he tried to move a limb, his whole body felt fuzzy, and his mouth was dry. It felt like he had a pillow under his head and a scratchy blanket covering him, and when he tried to move his arm far enough to shove the blankets off, Jason felt a needle moving around in his arm. Turning his head, he opened his eyes half-way and followed the line of the IV. 

The liquid being pumped into his veins was a sickly, glowing green, the green that had swallowed him, once. The bright, encroaching green he saw in his eyes when he looked in the mirror, sometimes. Hyperventilating, Jason wrestled the hand without an IV out from under the blanket. Under his skin, he could see the glowing sludge spreading through his veins, making them stand out, mocking him. Jason panicked. 

Before Bruce could stop him, he had snatched his IV out of his arm, and had thrown himself half way off the bed. 

"Christ, Jason," he growled, catching the young man before he fell off the bed in his uncoordinated haste. Jason tried to fight him off, but he was weak with sickness, and Bruce restrained him easy enough. "Relax, you're in the cave. You're safe. We're helping you."

"Lazarus... Lazarus pit," Jason whispered, his breath hitching. The way his eyes flicked around the room was like a feral animal in a cage. He tried to wrestle out of Bruce's arms and make a break for the gap in the curtains, delirious with fever and fear. 

"Jason," Bruce said, trying to sound soothing and simultaneously keep him in check. "Jason, look at me."

Green eyes focused on him, if only for a moment, as Jason tried to shake himself out of his stupor. Bruce cradled him almost like a child, trying to make sure his sentizised skin didn't touch the cold tiles of the med-bay floor. There was tension all through his body which seemed to be going through him in spasms, like he was trying to brace for a fight but didn't have enough energy to keep his gard up. 

"No. No, you don't get to see me like this. Not you," Jason mumbled to himself, shaking his head. Bruce frowned.

"I'm not going to use this against you, Jason. I'm here for you. We're going to get you better again. Nobody is going to hurt you." 

"W'rst part of that..." Jason murmured, his eyes slipping shut , "'s that I almost believe you."

"I wouldn't let anything happen to you, not here, not now," Bruce promised. Jason's shoulders began shaking, and the tension leaked out of him, making him tip forward against his adoptive father's solid chest. 

"Fuck you. I hate you," Jason choked into his shoulder. Bruce swallowed hard and allowed himself to press his cheek against the top of Jason's head as his heart ached. He wrapped his arms around his son's broad shoulders and held on.

"I know, Jase," Bruce hushed, stroking the sweaty hair on the back of his head. "I'm right here. Okay? Let's get you back to bed."

Jason's arms tightened around him, pressing the air from his lungs, and Bruce grunted, rocking a little from side to side.

"Don't leave me, dad, please don't leave me," came Jason's sobbing breath, and Bruce felt like he was being stabbed in the ribs at his terrified tone.

"No need to cry, I'm right... right here," Bruce choked out, brushing a thumb underneath Jason's eyes. "Right here. I'm not going anywhere."

Jason's cheeks were fever and tear-flushed, and Bruce took a moment to just sit there, looking at his almost oldest son. His eyes were glassy and he had purple moons stamped under his eyes, a small cut on his cheek that had to be stinging from his salty tears. He was hyper-ventilating like he had been running a marathon. 

Bruce reached for the thermometer on the table nearby, making sure not to cause any sudden movements. When he pressed it into Jason's ear, he flinched, but Bruce soothed him like one might console a small child, humming nonsense softly. 

He swore under his breath. Still at 105. Jason's brain was melting out of his ears. This high of a fever was deadly for extended periods of time, no wonder he was hallucinating the Lazarus pit. 

"Okay. Okay, Jason, c'mon. Let's get up." The noise of raw hurt that came out of Jasons throat clawed at Bruce's very soul, and Jason clutched harder at his t-shirt. "I promise I'm not letting you go, okay? We're just going to stand up. Come on."

It took even more coaxing to get Jason up on two shaky legs. He guided them towards the showers, and was incredibly grateful to his butler when he found the biggest tub in the communal locker rooms filled with some ice and water. 

Jason still wouldn't let him go, not for a second, and certainly not to let himself be set down in cold water. He began looking panicked just from looking at the tub, struggling weakly against Bruce's firm hold on him. 

"No, no, please don't make me go in there, I don't- I don't want to, please, dad, no," Jason sobbed. 

"It's just water, Jason, it's gonna help bring your fever down. It's nothing bad, I promise," Bruce soothed. Jason's breath kept hitching as he struggled to cry and breathe at the same time. 

"Please, please don't-"

"Okay, Jason, look at me." He nudged Jason's chin so he was looking at Bruce's hand. Jason screamed when Bruce dipped his hand into the water, and immediately tried to pull his hand back out. Bruce relented, only to brush the same wet hand against Jason's cheek. "It's just water, Jase. Just water. Okay?"

Still Jason whimpered and struggled so pitifully against him that Bruce wondered if he wouldn't slip right under if he just plopped him in the tub. Looking down at his clothes, Bruce mentally shrugged. If he didn't want Jason to die right in front of his eyes, _again_ , he would have to take drastic measures.

"Okay, kiddo, here we go," he muttered, stepping into the tub and easing Jason in after him. His son wriggled, but Bruce hushed him, soothing him when the sound of the water splashing over the sides and onto the floor startled him. The tub wasn't exactly made for two grown men, but Bruce slowly and surely got Jason and himself under the, at best tepid, water. When he felt the cold start setting into his bones, Bruce started some deep breathing, trying to center himself and keep his heartbeat steady and slow to reassure his half-unconscious son clinging to his chest.

When Jason's incoherent mumblings turned into soft snoring, Bruce leaned his head against his son's, and began stroking his back. His warm forehead pressed against Bruce's neck had begun feeling less hot, but maybe that was due to the uncomfortable water-temperature and his soggy clothes rather than anything else. Bruce had his eyes closed, lost in thought and considering how to best get out of the tub without disturbing Jason too much, when Alfred found them a few minutes later. 

"Oh my," the butler murmured, and Bruce opened his eyes to see the old man leaning against the rim of the tub. "Taking a bath, are we, Master Bruce?" 

Bruce blinked, taking a deep breath to zone back in. He noticed he had goosebumps all over his arms, and that he was distantly petting the back of Jason's head, smoothing down the usually fluffy hair.

"He woke up and seemed to be hallucinating. He... he wouldn't let me go," he said, instead of the much more fitting ' _I couldn't leave him again_ '. Bruce blamed the chilly water and it's accompanying discomfort for his hoarse voice. "I thought it might be a good idea to cool him off."

"Wise desicion," Alfred said, whipping out the thermometer from his pocket and pressing it into Jason's ear. The white streak, which had plastered itself to his forehead with sweat and water, was brushed away by the old man's infinitely gentle hands. "Hm. 103. The fever seems to be retreating, Master Bruce."

Bruce tipped his head back against the rim of the tub and breathed a sigh of relief. Jason sighed softly against his chest, and his head lolled even more against Bruce. Alfred went to fetch some towels for them.

"Should I call and cancel tonight's dinner with Mister Kent for you, Master Bruce?" Alfred asked, as he helped Bruce get Jason out of the bath. His strength was amazing, for a man of his age. 

"I believe I'll be a bit occupied. Thank you, Alfred," Bruce murmured as he wrapped Jason in a towel like he was still a little street rat with dirt absolutely everywhere. If he wrapped the towel a little tight around his torso, it wasn't to be able to give him a hug with Jason leaning into him or anything. 

Alfred nodded sagely. "Of course, Sir."

\---


	4. Damian

 

Bruce had left that morning for a board meeting and some organizing with his secretary, and by then Damian had still been asleep, so he hadn't seen his son since last night's patrol. When he got home to the mansion, he checked this day's admittances, expecting to find at least Damian's biology and physics tutors on the list and finding nobody outside of the family on the list. He frowned, and stepped into the kitchen to ask Alfred about it, but couldn't find him anywhere on the lower floor. Well, they were Damian's tutors, and if his son was in the house, he would know what happened to them, so Bruce set off for his room. 

On a few memorable occasions, Damian had taken Bruce's phone to cancel the tutors, and when Bruce started keeping the phone on his person, he just started ditching them. Until Dick talked some sense into the boy, Bruce had had some very miffed academics who felt disrespected looking down over their noses on him, which he had found annoying. If Damian had pulled a stunt like that again, then not even Dick's lecture had worked, and Bruce was going to have to bench him from patrol, no matter what Damian yelled at him.

He knocked on Damian's door, and opened it just to stick his head in. On the boy's bed lay a big, vaguely Damian-shaped lump of covers. It seemed they were wrapped around him so thoroughly that only a few strands of his hair managed to poke out from the little hood of covers. 

The whole effect made him look very much like an angry kitten curled up in a blanket. The baby-swaddling of his arms was probably Alfred's doing, and Bruce almost couldn't restrain his smile in time before he was noticed. Titus was asleep at the end of the bed, and when Bruce entered, Damian blinked muddled eyes open to glare at his father. The nightstand was covered in tissues, teamugs and that leather-bound notebook Clark had given Damian for his birthday. 

"How are you feeling, Damian?" 

" **Stupid cold country** ," Damian muttered in Arabic as he tried to sit up, and snuffled. "Pennyworth believes I've caught a cold."

Bruce raised his eyebrows, pressing his lips together to stop another smile. "How _preposterous_. Not Jason's flu, though?" 

Damian frowned at him. The angry cat expression became more pronounced. "No, it's not nearly so serious. And don't joke, father. You are not funny."

Bruce finally let that smile crack out as he undid his tie, turning to look at the TV. Looked like he was watching some sitcom, but seeing as Damian had a particular affinity with youtube shows lately, Bruce didn't want to assume anything. "What are you watching?" 

" _Friends_ , I believe. White-noise."

Bruce hummed and pulled his jacket off, tossing it over Damian's desk chair. He unbuttoned the cuffs and rolled them up. Alfred would have to nag him about ruining the ironing-job later. "Alright. Feeling stuffy?"

"I feel fine," Damian said, inhaling with a truly, disgustingly phlemy sound. It was a wonder he got any air in at all, with that stuffed nose. Bruce restrained himself from grimacing.

"Hmm. Mind if I sit?" 

Damian's eyes widened a little, but he shrugged, or at least what Bruce assumed was a shrug under all those blankets. Bruce sat down on the bed, shifting so he was leaning against the headboard, and Damian scooted up a little, until his head was level with Bruce's shoulder. It had taken time to get Damian this comfortable with him.

Had he been Dick, Damian's head would be resting on his shoulder, no hesitation, and while Bruce didn't really resent him for that, it still stung a little. His and Dick's parenting styles were definitely different, and because of that, they'd had differing results. While Dick and Damian had an easy companionship, Bruce and Damian were still a little tenative with each other. Dick insisted that they'd get the hang of it, that they were just too similar and too close to the situation to notice how far they'd come. However, all this work and time had made the two of them at least this comfortable, that they could snuggle on Damian's bed. 

"Think you'll be able to go out tonight?" Bruce asked after a few moments of silence.

"My current illness is not-" Damian interrupted himself with a coughing fit that wracked his whole bundle of covers, and Bruce wrinkled his nose, pulling the boy halfway into his lap until he could rub at his back. "-it's not distracting me from my work, I can assure you." Damian's voice was hoarse, and he looked like he might actually rather keel over here and now than admit defeat. Bruce resented his own stubbornness being genetic sometimes. 

"You can barely breathe sitting down, Damian, I don't think running around beating up crooks is good for you. No worries, Tim, Cassandra and I can handle tonight," he reassured him. Damian struggled to sit up again, but with no leverage due to his arms being wrapped up in blanket, he only managed to wiggle over so Bruce was half-cradling him in his arms. 

"I can handle it," Damian snapped, wriggling angrily, and Bruce held his hands up, signaling him to pause. Bruce unwound one of Damian's arms, and the boy immediately brought a hand up to scratch at his nose, like he was about to sneeze. When the moment of itchyness was over, the boy tucked his arm back in under his blanket, just to keep it warm. 

"You know I'm not going to snatch the mantel from you just because you can't go out tonight, right?" 

"Failure is not accepted, and should not be. I wouldn't blame you for removing me from my duties to this family for being... weak."

Damian was looking up at him with those big, dark eyes, so much like his mother. Loyal, bold, daring and prone to being overdramatic. Bruce let himself smile, just a little, at the open challenge in his eyes. 

"Y'know, my mother was an artist," he said. Damian's eyebrows furrowed at the sudden subject change, and he looked ready to interrupt to ask what the relevance was, so Bruce backed up. "You put a lot of weight in your lineage, in your family. That's good, but you forget that you are not only an al Ghul. You're a Wayne, too."

 _Mine_ , Bruce thought fiercely, rising to the challenge. He narrowed his eyes, asking without opening his mouth if Damian wished to reject him, call him a liar. He wondered if the boy would tell him that he could take the Wayne family name back, that he didn't want what was being offered. When Damian stayed silent, Bruce took a deep breath, feeling the lead weight in his stomach lighten a little. 

"She liked roses, and fencing. Whenever she pulled the pins out of her hair in the evening and I was sitting by her vanity, she would pin my hair back with them. She said it made me look exactly like my father."

"I've seen their portraits," Damian said, scowling, but he looked pretty comfortable, his fears appeased for the moment, and his eyelids were starting to drop a little. "I don't agree."

"Think I needed the mustache too?" 

There was a surprised sparkle of amusement in Damian's eyes and he pursed his lips. "-tt-. I doubt it would suit you." 

"No? I do look a lot like my father. Wayne men have especially square bone structure. And I got my mother's Jewish nose," he smiled, tapping it. Damian lifted a sleepy finger, trailing it down from between Bruce's eyebrows down to the tip of his nose. "Been broken a couple of times, of course." 

Damian was silent for a while, just considering him as his eyes turned to sleepy slits. It seemed that the nap Bruce had interrupted was being continued, whether he was there or not. Alfred would be by soon to collect the mugs, and then he could get Damian something to get rid of that nasty cough. 

"Do I look like a Wayne, baba?" the boy finally asked softly, and Bruce swallowed, pressing a kiss to his round cheek. The softness of 'baba' in comparison to Damian's sharp 'father' felt like a testament to how far they'd come, from shouting at each other in the cave every day. To this. To a Damian who would present his weakness and asked to be punished, and Bruce saying _no_.

"You've definitely got the Wayne cheekbones coming. And the Wayne courage. The Wayne stubbornness. And whatever we can't see right now, you'll grow into," he murmured, moving his hand to rub circles on Damian's back again. "You're a Wayne, alright. No doubt about it."

Damian made a soft, satisfied noise, and Bruce continued to rub Damian's back as the boy fell back into a restful slumber.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now I know Damian saying "baba" isn't exactly him saying dad but it's more heartfelt than his usual "father" and also Damian calling Bruce baba instead of dad is a headcanon hill I'm willing to die on, alright? I'm squeaking by on this one technicality.


	5. Cass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for some of this to make sense, I feel like I have to share how I think Cassandra communicates with the rest of the world? I know in the comics she didn't really like ASL and stuff, but it makes zero sense to me that someone who's been raised without speaking would suddenly become magically acclimated to words. People who have been deaf from birth don't exactly think in words, but rather pictures, and I feel like it'd be the same thing for her, sort of? So she has her own version of sign language, that Steph taught her, and she knows ASL and stuff, but she still speaks a little.  
> Anyway thank you for reading and commenting!! Your kind words are wonderful to read!! Hope you enjoy!! <3<3

 

With no sick children to care for, and with an ankle that supported his weight, Bruce had gone back to patrol with no trouble. The JL had been called in to battle a small alien invasion in Texas, of all places. Considering the aliens had been weakened by anything hotter than 212 degrees, Superman had swept through most of them with his heat vision, and the Junior leaguers took a swing at the rest of them. All in all, a pretty good training exercise for the young ones, and a time for Bruce to catch up with J'onn and Diana. 

Clark had taken him out to eat afterwards and then dropped him off at home. All in all, Bruce was having a pretty good week. After recovering from their illnesses, Jason and Damian had gone on to successfully work together for a whole day without trying to kill each other, and without Alfred or Dick running interference. To celebrate, they were having a family dinner on Sunday. 

The only family-member who hadn't been in town at the time it was decided, was Cassandra. She'd been in Hong Kong for a while, but Alfred assured Bruce that she was fine and wrapping up her case out there. He'd been alerted to her homecoming only about an hour ago, and the knowledge found him standing on the patio, gazing out over the huge lawn. 

His lone daughter was curled up on the hammock in the rose garden, watching a video on her phone. She was curled up in a WE hoodie, looking tired but satisfied. The sunlight was hitting her black tights, making them glint, and she looked comfortably spread out on the dark blue hammock cushions. The earbuds she had in were bright red and definitely Tim's and not hers, but Bruce doubted he would mind. He only minded when it was Damian, and Bruce was pretty sure that was mostly just to have a reason to fight nowadays. 

"May I?" Bruce asked as he approached, book tucked underneath his arm. She didn't take her eyes off her phone, but gracefully pulled her feet up to curl up in a ball on one side of the hammock. "Thank you." 

He sat down heavily, groaning a little. Cassandra's warm brown eyes flicked over to him, and he waved her off. 

"Back?" she questioned, and he nodded, digging the heel of his hand into his back and sucking in a breath through his teeth. 

"Strained myself last night. Alfred's already nagged me about putting something on it, don't worry."

"Have you?" she asked, eyebrows raising. 

"I'll get to it later," he promised. "I didn't mean to take up all your space. You can put your feet in my lap if you'd like."

Tenatively, one foot stretched out and poked his thigh a few times. He allowed it for a moment, until he tugged the offending limb up into his lap. Bruce opened his book, settling in to read and relax with only Cassandra and the birds nearby for company. He knew that what Cassandra needed right now wasn't her brothers' boisterous laughter, but something calm to come down to. 

Cassandra wasn't exactly shy, but she wasn't entirely comfortable with everyone constantly, either. Damian had been the same in the beginning, but just like him, Cassandra was beginning to come out of her shell a little more. That didn't mean she always had to be thrust into uncomfortable social situations, in Bruce's opinion. 

Alfred could back him up with children's psychology, but Bruce just remembered being a lonely child, uncomfortable in the limelight and with only Alfred's solid form between him and the rest of the world. If his presence could act a similar influence on Cassandra, he would consider that a success. 

She wiggled her toes in his lap, and poked against his thigh again. He could feel her eyes on the side of his face. Well, seems like she was ready for some social chit-chat.

"Did you enjoy yourself in Hong Kong?" Bruce had learned early on that asking how a mission went wasn't the best strategy with her. A mission's success depended on the objective, and most of Cassandra's objectives had been to kill, in the beginning. Asking if she enjoyed herself was a relatively neutral way into asking how the mission went without asking those precise words. 

"Good food. Fun case. Missed the fluffy boys," Cassandra murmured. 

"I, too, miss your brothers when I leave," Bruce agreed, just to tease. She smiled, and sat up. 

"Them too. Steph coming for dinner?"

"On Sunday, yes. I think Kate might be coming too, actually, and Clark and Kon of course. We'll see," Bruce said. "If you want her over tonight, I suggest you let her know. I'm sure Alfred wouldn't mind."

"Master Timothy has already declared his intent to bring Miss Brown to dinner," Alfred said as he stepped out onto the patio. He was holding a tray with two tall glasses of lemonade in his one hand and a heating pad draped over the other arm. "Lemonade, Miss Cassandra, Master Bruce?" 

"Yes, thank you, Alfred," Bruce said, taking one of the glasses. Cassandra took the other one, and watched with amused dark eyes as Alfred primly pressed the heating pad between Bruce's back and the hammock cushions. 

"Will there be anything else, Master Bruce?"

"Have you eaten anything since you got back?" Bruce asked his daughter, who shrugged. "Maybe a sandwich or something for the lady."

"Certainly, Sir. One 'sandwich or something' for Miss Cassandra. Can I interest you in eating anything other than a powerbar, Master Bruce?" 

Bruce shifted the heating pad a little, narrowing his eyes teasingly. "You know, butlers have been fired for less than being sassy."

"I'm positively trembling in my boots, Sir. A cookie, perhaps?"

"...Do we have any brownies left?"

Alfred nodded. "Unless there has been a raid, in which case I believe I will easily find the culprits."

Bruce scoffed. "Alright then. Thank you, Alfred." The old man did a little bow before tucking the tray under his arm and he walked back into the house. 

"Sent report to Babs and you," Cass murmured, and Bruce nodded. 

"Good. Thank you." She nodded and he sipped his lemonade. Without speaking, she held her glass out to him, and Bruce took it so she could get into a comfortable position, with her one leg drawn up against her chest and the other tucked underneath herself. When she reclaimed her glass, Bruce gave up on his book, and put it down on the cushion next to him. "I have ballet tickets for tonight, and I was going to ask Clark to go with me, but I know he's going to fall asleep or dash out at least four times during the whole thing. Do you want to go with me?"

Her dark eyes glittered with interest. "What show?"

"Sleeping Beauty, I think. I know you like Tchaikovsky." 

Cassandra tilted her head. "Clark then?"

"Oh, he doesn't think ballet's the bees knees exactly," Bruce chuckled to himself, thinking about the little furrow between his brows hiding behind the glasses, whenever Bruce asked him to join him at any society event or high-end source of entertainment. Bruce Wayne had a reputation to uphold, of course. Galas to attend, charity events, the works. Clark always felt out of place when he wasn't there reporting. "In fact, I think he'll be relieved to hear you'll be taking his place, if you wished to go."

She nodded. "Like it when you're calm." She tapped a fingertip between his brows gently, making Bruce blink. The gesture left a droplet of condensation from the lemonade glass on his forehead. "It's good. Soft."

"You think I'm going soft?" Bruce asked, frowning. Cassandra tipped her head from side to side. 

"Good-soft, not bad-soft. Clark's good for you. Better with Damian. Better with Dick. You're better with everyone." She shrugged, leaning her shoulder against his. 

"Hm," Bruce said noncommitally. Cassandra was a good observer, could usually point out something he'd missed whenever he asked. She used her body to express herself more than her voice, and therefore noticed when others spoke in her mother tongue. Bruce envied that, sometimes. "Yes, I think I can agree that Clark is good for me."

If the country bumpkin was listening in, Bruce was in for a barrage of sappy texts. For all that he grumbled, Bruce actually sort of liked his sweet manners and insistence that romance kept a relationship alive. He'd gone on more chaste dates with Clark than anybody else in his romantic repetoire. After they'd slept with each other for the first time, of course. Clark was a romantic, but he was also incredibly hot for Bruce, and Bruce had wanted to peel him out of that silly uniform since the first time Clark told him to stop being an asshole in front of the whole JL. 

Cassandra nodded, seemingly satisfied for the moment, and put her earbuds back in, drinking from her lemonade glass. When she'd finished it, she placed it on the grass beneath them, and held her hand out for Bruce's too. When the hammock began softly rocking, it was due to Cassandra pressing her toes into the grass, obviously finding the rhythm soothing. They settled back into a comfortable silence. He pulled up his phone to let Clark know of the night's changed plans.

_Seems like I won't have to drag you to the ballet tonight, Cassandra is home_

_i would've loved to go, but i wouldn't steal a night with Cass from you, you'll make it up to me somehow ;)_

Bruce found himself smiling at his phone, considering how to properly make it up to him, before he tucked his phone back into his pants and picked the book back up. By the time he'd read another chapter, Cassandra had started tapping her fingers against the cover of her phone distantly, glancing from her phone to him. Finally, she pulled one earbud out, and took a steeling breath. 

"Dad," she said, and Bruce's heart stuttered in his chest. He looked up. 

"Yes, Cassandra?" 

She shrugged, but her eyes flicked away from him, which was unlike her. "Just wanted to feel it."

"Hm. Okay." She sat up, tucking her feet underneath her again, and traced a little heart on the top of his hand. _Safe. Home._ "You know, you don't have to call me that. Any way you want to communicate is fine, as long as you do talk to me, or Alfred, or your brothers, or the girls."

Cassandra nodded, making a single stripe with her fingertip over the back of his hand. _Yes_. 

Bruce nodded. "Okay. Whatever you need, you know we're here for you." She nodded again, and when he gave her a serious look, telling her to be serious, she smiled, and pressed a kiss to his forehead, before gracefully rolling off the hammock and snatching the glasses off the ground. "Where are you going?"

"Sandwich," she said, motioning for the kitchen. 

"Hey, don't let Dick help you with your clothes for tonight," he called after her, and she laughed, looking back at him with her eyes shining with calm. He remembered before she wore the bat printed on her chest, when her eyes were always darting around the room, looking for anybody wanting to fight her. 

At least in part, Bruce thought the calm came from him, from her being invited to sit at their dinner table, or blend into the wallpaper when she wanted to. Giving Cassandra the option to come out of the shadows had given Batman more than a treasured ally, it had blessed him with a patient, curious daughter who could kick his ass if she thought she needed to. 

"Won't," she promised. "Damian?"

"Yeah, I trust his fashion choices," Bruce agreed, and she clicked her tongue before slipping back into the shadowy mansion. 

\---


	6. Bruce

 

Family dinners where they dragged in extended family always tended to get boisterous and loud, even if they hadn't even started yet. Clark had texted saying he'd be a little late, but Kon, Steph, and the others would be arriving any minute for pre-dinner mocktails. All of Bruce's children were gathered in the sitting room which was closest to the kitchen and the dining room they used for family dinners, and while Bruce usually skipped the cocktails before dinner, today he found himself standing in the doorway to the sitting room, watching his kids bicker.

"Honestly Jason, if you'd stop wearing so much clothing you wouldn't sweat enough to make your domino fall off," Dick said matter-of-factly, and Jason rolled his eyes at him, crossing his arms where he sat on the couch. 

"Maybe if _you_ stopped wearing skin-tight, skimpy outfits to fight crime your ass wouldn't be all over every gossip-page. Or maybe you like the attention, Dickie?"

Tim looked up from his phone long enough to huff out a laugh. "Oof."

Dick laughed and gave Jason a mock-pitying look. "Don't tell me you're jealous, little wing. You've got a nice ass too, I promise."

"I'm just saying, you're almost old enough to be a family man, is that really becoming of you?" Jason said, raising an eyebrow. Damian rolled his eyes at all of them, where he was curled up on the couch next to Cassandra, who was watching them with amused eyes. Bruce saw his moment to shine.

"Yes, when _are_ you going to give me grandchildren, Dick? You are of childbearing age," he said in a dead-pan tone, only half-joking. All heads turned to him as his eldest gaped at him, and Jason burst out laughing.

"What's with the sudden baby fever, B? You have Damian," Tim said, looking back down at his phone. Damian shot out of the couch, but was stopped by Dick slinging an arm around his waist.

"I am NOT a baby, Drake!" Damian shouted, and tried to wriggle out of Dick's arms, only for the older of the boys to drop down on his butt on the floor, still with Damian in his arms. Tim's self-satisfied smile could use a little dampener, in Bruce's opinion as he stepped into the room.

"I'm just saying. If none of you are going to make me a grandpa..." Bruce shrugged, and eyes widened in horror around him. 

"Bruce, you know I love and respect you, but if you bring another orphan into this household without my permission, I'm _disowning_ you," Dick said, pointing an accusing finger his way. Damian's eyes were a little wide too, and Jason's face had taken on a particularly interesting shade of startled and worried. Tim's smug smirk was replaced with narrowed eyes, like he was trying to figure out if Bruce was joking or not.

Bruce raised an amused eyebrow. "I think I can disown you but not the other way around."

"Nope, you're wrong," Dick said. "I'll disown you right here and now. Don't tempt me." 

"I don't know," Tim said, the glint in his eyes saying he was teasing. "I think it could be nice to no longer be the middle child."

"Those are always said to do the absolute worst in life, Timmy. Making us an even number would cancel out that factor, though I doubt there is a deeper rock bottom that you can hit than you already have," Jason said, an innocently sweet smile on his face.

"Jason," Bruce warned. 

"You're no fun, old man. You get to joke about more kids and we don't?"

Damian rolled his eyes at his brothers. "I suppose if one child should have the best tutelage, I would have to be their primary brother."

"Primary brother?" Tim scoffed. 

"Hey, it's been proven that I do best with raising kids in this group!" Dick said indignantly. 

"Frankly, Grayson, you leave some things to be desired."

Dick gaped and pressed a hurt hand to his heart as Jason huffed. "Oh, this should be good. What would that be, brat?" 

"Well..." Damian pursed his lips, and Dick gasped. 

"Admit it, you can't think of anything! Oh, Dami, you looove me," he crooned, hugging the boy closer and pressing loud kisses to Damian's head. Damian made a sound like an angry cat. 

"Grayson, get off!" he shouted, but he didn't so much try to escape Dick's grasp as he wiggled, scowling for all that he was worth.

"Well, if I could order a sibling, it would be someone who's relatively chill," Jason contemplated.

"Oh, yeah, because that's the personality which is the absolute _best_ for crime-fighting," Tim said sarcastically.

"Make it a girl," Cassandra said, looking at her brothers with pursed lips. 

Jason gaped. "Ouch, but okay, that's fair. Technically, that's actually not on us though, that's all the old man."

"It _is_ a bit uneven," Bruce murmured to Cassandra, who nodded primly. 

"What's a bit uneven?" Stephanie asked as she skidded into the room, immediately hopping into the couch next to Cassandra and recieving a kiss on the cheek from her. 

"Girls vs boys," Cassandra said. 

Stephanie hummed. "Oh, yeah, but that's fine, we can still kick their asses so it's-" She flapped a hand in the air. "Whatever."

"Bruce is threatening with more siblings, that's why it's up for discussion," Jason let her know. 

"Well holy shit. Nevermind then, get way more girls. Like, seven more at least."

Bruce sighed. "I regret trying to be funny." 

That startled a laugh out of his kids, and even made Damian smirk. Tim got up, padding out into the foyer and reappearing with Superboy hot on his heels. 

"Hi Mr. Wayne, hi guys," Kon said, grinning at them, and recieved a chorus of 'hi's back. Damian only scowled at him, and used Dick's momentary distraction to wrestle free from him and get up. 

Kon and Stephanie's arrival made Jason get up and start making the mocktails, and Bruce decided to leave the kids to their own devices. They didn't keep alcohol in the house, after too many incidents with Dick and Jason as teenagers, so he wasn't worried about them. Besides, Alfred was just next door, making dinner. They couldn't get up to too much trouble without him there. 

These past few weeks had given Bruce things to think about. He set off into the manor without any specific room in mind, but ultimately ended up in the green sitting room, with the plush couches, grey fireplace, and the largest portrait of Martha and Thomas Wayne on the property. Bruce pushed the door closed behind himself, and sighed quietly. 

The whole idea of talking to portraits was silly and childish, but when Bruce was a little boy and had only just lost his parents, some nights Alfred would pull a mattress into this sitting room and let Bruce sleep there. At the time, Alfred had said it would let his parents listen to him from heaven, and while he didn't exactly believe it back then, and certainly didn't now, it was still a... comfort of sorts, to see them, after all these years. 

He tapped his fingers against the mantle of the fireplace, glancing up at his mother and father's faces. The portrait is lovely, always has been, and they look regal and young and warm. Bruce is older now than his father ever was, which still strikes him as impossible sometimes. The inevitable passage of time shouldn't be shocking, but in this instance, it really is. His parents married young, but didn't have him until they were in their early thirties, and Bruce hasn't even found a good partner until now.

Thinking of Clark made his lips twitch into a little smile, and he took a deep breath, clearing his throat. 

"It's been a while I suppose, and talking to myself probably isn't the best, but... Well, I thought I should share with you. If you are, like Alfred says, listening in. I've met someone I really, really.... love. He's a good man. A beacon of hope for humanity. He's sweet, and caring, and gentle.... The kids love him. Surprisingly, even Damian likes him. In his own way, of course, in that he yells at him but also asks Clark to cover my back when he's not there to. When I was dating Selina, he tried to poison her. The only thing he liked about her was the cats. Other than that..." Bruce shook his head at himself. It was easiest to imagine that he was talking to them through the phone. That usually made him feel less like a fool.

"The kids are good, too. We could be better, of course, we could always feel better, but I think right now, they're in a good place. Jason hasn't killed anyone in a while, and Dick comes home on the weekends usually. Damian's subtly pestering me to get another dog so Titus won't be lonely, but he's about as subtle as an elephant in these cases. He'll look up at me with his puppy eyes every time he's petting Titus and I'm in the room, and he'll say 'father, wouldn't it be the best if Titus had a friend?'."

Bruce chuckled to himself, shaking his head. 

"Bruce Wayne. The Batman. World's Greatest Detective. Many great names, same man. Even with all of that, I never knew my favorite moniker would be 'dad'," he mused quietly. "No, I don't know who I'd be without them. _What_ I'd be without them. We're better now than we've ever been, I think. Alfred says so, at least. Clark agrees that we're pretty good. 

"Clark always says things like that, though. He likes to spread hope like that. Probably one of the reasons why he's a journalist. I know you'd love his writing," he said, smiling up at his mother's sweet face. "He's smart, too. If a little too hopeful. He balances me out, I suppose. Oh, dad, I know you'd have loved talking politics with him. I think you both would've been... thoroughly pleased with my choice." 

There was a soft clearing of someone's throat, and Bruce nearly startled, turning around to see Alfred standing in the doorway. Instantly, he relaxed. 

"Talking to your parents, Master Bruce?" Alfred inquired gently. Bruce nodded, feeling his shoulders rise a little in embarrassment, even though he knew Alfred wouldn't mock him for this. He had done far more embarrassing things in front of Alfred during his life. 

"It's been a while," he shrugged. The old man nodded too, and stepped further into the room. "It's a nice thought, I suppose, that they're still here."

"Oh in spirit, they certainly are. You're very much your father's son, and absolutely your mother's son. They raised you with their values and you've continued to honor them throughout your life. Why, Master Bruce, in spite of all of that, I believe that any situation in which you are happy, your parents would have approved," Alfred said gently. 

"I suppose," he murmured, gazing up at the portrait again. "I'd like to think I've made Gotham a better place, but I don't know."

"If you feel you haven't done enough, which you most certainly have, then you have raised a next generation of strong and brave young men and women who will carry on your work, your parents' work. They're young now, but I speak from experience when I say that it can take some an astonishingly long time to grow into their own skin and settle down."

"Oh really? Speak from experience, now, do you?"

Alfred's eyes twinkled. "Certainly, Master Bruce."

Bruce narrowed his eyes at his butler. "Hmm."

A small smile played on Alfred's lips. "I believe your last guest will be arriving any moment, if the perimeter alarms are on and my judgement is correct."

"Yeah, he should be here any minute. Well, I should go greet my guest, shouldn't I?" Bruce asked, smiling as he moved towards the door.

"Oh, such wonderful manners."

"I was raised by the best," Bruce said, placing a hand on Alfred's shoulder as they closed the door to the green sitting room behind them.

\---

When they rejoined the rest of the family in the sitting room closest by the kitchen, all of the kids were scattered over the couches and the floor, with Damian making a face into a sugary, yellow mocktail, and Clark sitting on the couch next to him, giving Bruce a sunny smile. 

"Hi sweetheart," Clark said as he stood up and reach a hand out towards him to pull him in. 

"Hi," Bruce said, and let himself get pulled into Clark's side. 

"If the party would like to take their seats, dinner will be served in just a moment," Alfred said as he passed through the room on his way towards the kitchen. 

"This is awful, father," Damian scowled, pressing the glass into Bruce's hand when he walked by. 

Jason snagged it. "He's just a wimp that doesn't get pineapples!" 

"It's fruit, Todd. There's nothing to get," Damian snapped. 

"Actually, pineapples eat you back! That's something to get," Kon said. "There's something in them that starts breaking you down when you start breaking it down, which is why peoples mouths' tingle when they eat pineapple."

"Enzymes and stuff," Tim agreed. "Wonder if you could dissolve a body in that?"

"No body-talk during dinner!" Bruce called after them as they moved out of the room. He was just about to follow them into the dining room when Clark's little tug on his shirt stopped him.

"How's your foot feeling?" Clark asked him, eyeing him critically. Bruce rolled his eyes at his concerned lover. 

"It's fine, stop making that face."

"I'm not making a face!" Bruce raised an eyebrow at him, and Clark chuckled. "Okay, so what if I am? I'm not allowed to be worried about my partner?"

"It's _fine_ , Kal, it wasn't even that bad of a sprain. How was work?"

Clark pressed his lips together in displeasure but let it go. "It was alright. Got something on the drawing board I think you're gonna like. Corruption, scams, the works. Perry thinks I might get a three-piece series."

Bruce hummed. "Sounds interesting. Got everything you need?"

He nodded. "I think so. Otherwise I'll just ask for help, like normal people do when they need assistance." He gave Bruce a pointed look, and the detective rolled his eyes again, pressing a brief kiss to Clark's lips. 

"Pushy. Go sit down," he said, giving Clark's delectable ass a squeeze before shooing him off into the dining room. Clark swatted after him but grinned the whole way into the room anyway. 

Bruce took his place at the head of the table, with Clark on his left and Dick on his right. While Damian didn't insist that he had to sit next to Clark, to defend his father's honor he would claim if anyone asked, anybody who so much as glanced at the chair felt his eleven-year-old's Glare of Doom, as Dick called it. 

Kon and Tim sat next to each other, and Jason was placed between Cassandra and Dick, two relatively neutral parties in that Cassandra wouldn't indulge his pranks like Steph, and Dick would rather keep the family in one piece than break down in a fight with Jason during a family dinner. Kate sat to the side, but was continuously roped into conversation by Jason and Stephanie. 

The last to take his seat was Alfred, who was at the foot of the table, and then it was time to dig in. Questions were called over the table like they were in a crowd at a concert, loud and invasive. While they didn't actually fight to get to the food first, like his kids were starved dogs, Bruce still saw Cassandra's hand dart out to smack away Jason's hand from the bread rolls before she got one, and Damian almost dunked Tim's face into the gravy bowl for trying to grab it first. 

While Bruce had been one of the first to get a helping of food, now he just sat there, staring down the length of the table. These little heathens were his kids, this massive amount of people were considered his _family_. Bruce grew up an only child, with just him and Alfred walking around the manor. 

It's silent rooms had felt like a comfort then, the great arching doors big but sturdy and safe. The doorway in the kitchen had little marks lining up how tall he was getting as a child, but now the doorway looks like it's been scratched up because of all of the marks on it. 

He never meant for a two person family to become almost a dozen. He doesn't know what happened to him, when he started letting all of these people into his life and his home. All Bruce knows is right now, in this moment, this is probably the best he's ever felt. His kids, Clark, all of the people gathered around the table. This is the most alive the manor has been since his parents died.

It's not like he's entirely healed. Just thinking about his parents' portrait and how much they would've loved sitting here with his family, _their_ family, makes his heart hurt. Bruce doesn't know who he'd be without his grief, either. But this happiness, it balms the ache, for a while. Tonight, he'll put on his cowl and the grief will strengthen him when he brings people to justice, but until then, he can let himself have this glittering moment of safety and calm.

Frankly, Bruce thinks it's a crazy thought. The hand that landed on his knee brought him back to reality, a sweet welcome addition to Bruce's little crisis. 

"Hey, you okay?" Clark murmured, his eyebrows a little furrowed. 

"Yeah," Bruce said quietly, gazing out at the family gathered around the table, shouting at each other and laughing. He took a deep breath and rested his hand over Clark's, squeezing and getting a soft smile back. "Yeah, I'm okay."

He looked up to meet Alfred's eyes from across the table, and found only his proud, patient eyes gazing back calmly. Alfred's reassuring nod scared away the last of his panic, and he took another deep breath. Right. He could be happy. Hadn't had much practice, but he could do it. 

Well, with a little help. Damian's cackle and Dick's joyful laughter helped, as did Cassandra's little twitchy smile, and Jason's shoulders shaking with repressed mirth. Tim and Kon leaning into each other like two lovebirds helped too, as well as Kate's amused look and Stephanie's expansive hand-gestures as she told Kate some story. 

Yeah, Bruce's got this. 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little longer than the other ones, and I'm not still 100% happy with it, but the most important part for me was to finish this so at this point I hope you guys still like it.   
> On that note, thank you so so much for your encouraging comments and sweet words!!! It's only with your support that I've managed to get this thing finished! It's a little silly, a lot fluffy, and I'm feeling a little less like I'm in the biggest writers slump of my life (which I might actually still be. keep your fingers crossed for me)  
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed this silly little thing! Thank you again for reading and being wonderful!!! <3<3<3


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